


Saying their first

by Jinzuo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Friendship, Kid Fic, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M, Teenlock, amythehippogriff, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinzuo/pseuds/Jinzuo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they meet it's pure coincidence.<br/>The second time they meet it's an accident.<br/>The third time they're almost convinced it's fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amythehippogriff](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=amythehippogriff).



> Part of johnlockchallenges' gift exchange on tumblr  
> For amythehippogriff, hope you'll like it  
> Thanks for the lovely prompt, I had a lot of fun with it (and a lot of despair but that's another story)  
> Also the story is unbeta-ed so, sorry for the mistakes, they're all mine, so please return them if you happen to stumble upon them (and if someone would like to beta the fic, I'd be more than grateful and do everything you want (well not everything, probably))  
> I didn't intend to write the whole fic in present tense... it just kind of... happened  
> Also I wanted to write snippets of their lifes like some sort of snapshots ... I managed quite a lot more continuity than I aimed for...
> 
> The prompt was: “Sherlock and John saying their first. Teen!Lock John and Sherlock meet by coincidence as young children and instantly bond, and as they grow up their friendship grows stronger and stronger, eventually developing into something more. Moriarty could be in there somewhere, maybe as John’s friend from when he was a baby, therefore Sherlock is jealous of him? Any rating.”  
> anyway, enjoy

The first time they meet it's pure coincidence.  
The cold and rainy month of November is nearing its end, making way for an even colder December. The air is chilly from recent rain and the sky still covered in a cloudy grey.  
Dark curls bounce in the light breeze. 

A small boy leans over the muddy ground, examining it meticulously. He had somehow managed to escape his brother's watchful surveillance and is currently crouching on the ground, inspecting the wet soil for footprints.

"What are you doing there?" a sudden voice asks. For a short moment the boy freezes until he realizes it's not his brothers voice. Too short a moment for anyone but himself to notice his silliness. Annoyed he looks up and eyes the blond boy that's hovering over him now. He's taller than Sherlock, likely quite a few years older, different than the smaller boy already attending school. 

His school uniform is slightly dishevelled, his ashen hair, though short, in a similar messy state, still glistening from the recently fallen rain and even a bit muddy, but the big blue eyes speak of a kind nature.  
He glances back to the the ground, gently poking at the edges of one of the footprints.  
"I'm trying to find the thief", he declares sighing in a matter-of-fact tone, getting up and trying to no avail to wipe dirt off his knees. A low murmur of how Mycroft and mummy won't like that at all, before he shakes the thought off.

"A thief?", the unknown boy exclaims surprised, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.  
Sherlock almost rolled his eyes at the daftness that forced him to repeat himself before a small smile creeped on his features. 

"Aye, a thief, ye landlubber. A plunderer. Someone's stolen me treasure."  
The taller boy leans back, looking at the younger for a moment before he breaks out into a wide grin. "A treasure?", he asks. "What kind of treasure?"

A bright smile on the smaller boys lips mirroring the expression, only leaving to be replaced by a cryptic one as he leans in closer, his voice lowered to nothing more than a whisper, his tone grave and his bright eyes earnest. "It's an invaluable treasure. We need to get it back."  
Suddenly much lighter and louder. "Don't ye worry, mate, ya'll get yer fair share once we've found the wrongdoer." 

He resumes to examine the muddy earth, the other boy doing the same without really know what to look for. "Why did you get in a fight?", he asks lightly after some time of silence. The older boy looked up, astonishment written all over his face, eyeing the other. "How did you know?", he asks surprised. 

"I didn't know, I noticed", Sherlock replies jauntily. "Your uniform is all slovenly, and your hair is dishevelled and a bit mud is sticking in it, the way you hold yourself and the way you talk tells me you're not usually that sloppy but also stick up for what you think is right. So I assume you've got in a fight, to get you in that condition. Also the scratches on your hands and cheek are a distinct indicator. So is the bruise forming right under your collar, it shows when you bend down." The last part was added after he noticed the astounded look on the other boys face. "Oh come on, it is really obvious." 

The boy shakes his head, looking at himself and trying to straighten his clothes. "That was brilliant. That was really extraordinary!", he declares. 

"You think so?", the dark curls bounced with a short but not quite convinced laughter.  
"Quite. You're right, I got in a fight." He hesitates. "There were some boys from my school and they were bullying a small cat that got stuck. I couldn't just watch them throwing rocks at the poor thing, so I told them to stop. They obviously didn't intend to without some persuasion. But most scratches are from the cat actually, when I tried get it out." A crooked smile sneaks on his lips at the memory and makes Sherlock almost wonder at his new friend. 

"Aaarrrrr, I've found another clue", the fair-haired boy exclaimes and Sherlock immediately comes to take a look, but after some investigation he finds that, no, that was no clue, that was only an empty jam jar that had been burried without much attention and now only a bit of the glass stuck out, glittering in the soft afternoon sun. After a short moment of disappointment the blond finds another, this time real clue, some hair clinging to the bark of an old tree. So they resume their merciless search for the culprit, interrupted only by occasional piratey fights against other pirates, monsters or bounty hunters who'd try to get them. 

Eventually it turned out that the perpetrator had been an old dog who dug up the treasure, which turned out to consist mostly of sweets and books that looked far to advanced for such a little boy. The animal had apparently been attracted by some part of the treasure the older boy didn't really want to know about. It appeared to be some sort of experiment he didn't dare to ask about further.

Both boys spent the day using made up pirate names for each other, fighting sea monsters and eating a lot of sweets and investigating other mysteries, until the older boy looked at his watch and excused himself rather distressed, sounding worried as he proceeded to mutter excuses and trying to figure out how to explain his tardiness to his parents.  
Sherlock didn't even try to find an excuse. It was obviously Mycroft's fault for letting him escape. 

They never exchanged their real names on that day.

 

The second time they meet, it's an accident.  
The youngest Watson barely says his thanks before he challenges his friend to a race to test out the new bike he's got for his birthday. 

Looking over his shoulder to evaluate the distance between them makes him smile, he's not even struggling to be in the lead and is almost sure that Jim isn't just letting him win. Nothing can stop him from winning now, or so he thinks. 

Shouting something at his friend he doesn't see the boy in his way until they crash. The other boy is easily knocked off his feet, the curly head almost hitting the ground and John loses his balance as well. He hardly manages to jump off his bicycle to avoid falling. He drops his bike and hurries towards the other boy. 

"I'm sorry", he hastily apologies. "Are you all right?", he enquires while he offers his hand to help the other child up, earning himself only a huff and almost getting his hand swatted away before the dark haired boy lifts his gaze. 

It's been three years since their first meeting. Still, even after only one short meeting long time ago, both of them remember, holding the memory of an adventurous afternoon dearly.  
The bright greyish blue eyes fixate their gaze on John, before the boy sighs and eventually takes the offered hand, letting himself being pulled up and squatting the dirt off his clothes instead afterwards.

"Are you all right?", John repeats, noticing the boy he's met before, almost one head shorter than himself had used the last three years to catch up to his height.

"Me? Yeah, yeah... I'm fine", the other replies, still eyeing John, who is offering a smile which is returned after a few more seconds."John!", the other almost forgotten boy shouts. 

"Sorry, I gotta go!" John declares with an apologetic look, after he made sure one more time the other boy wasn't hurt. He smiles. "It was nice to meet you again." And with these words he runs off. 

"You too", Sherlock doesn't get to reply.

 

The third time they're almost convinced it's fate.  
Sherlock once again tries to avoid his family and everyone really. A park bench probably isn't the best choice to avoid people though, he has to admit. Completely engrossed in his new book about bees - genuinely fascinating creatures - he's barely noticing the person sitting down next to him. Well, of course he notices the presence of someone else, the soft sound of footsteps, the slight movement of the wood, that comes with the new weight, the faint scent of freshly washed hair, the vague feeling of beeing stared at, but he tries not to be bothered about it and ignores it for the next two chapters. 

As he finally looks up he finds the stranger still sitting next to him, staring at the sky and not quite as unfamiliar as he had expected him to be. Now it's his turn to stare, his book lying heavy on his lap. 

"I saw you sitting here and ... well, I couldn't just walk past, could I?", the ashen blond boy says. Sherlock frowns, not quite getting what would hinder him from walking past but completely understanding at the same time. 

"I think I never got to properly introduce myself", he continues, "John Watson, nice to meet you." 

"Why didn't you say something?", Sherlock queries.  
John shrugs his shoulders. "Didn't want to interrupt."  
"That's stupid." Sherlock smiles. 

"Why are you reading about bees anyway?" Honest curiousity lies in John's question and he tilts his head.  
This time Sherlock shrugs. "I like them. They're intriguing." 

John's dark blue eyes lighten up, as he begins to laugh. "You're odd." It isn't a judging laugh, it's just a genuinely amused one.

Sherlock lifts his gaze towards the sky as the first raindrops fall before he looks at the other boy again.

Another year had passed since their second meeting and by now, Sherlock had managed to grow even taller than John.  
"You shouldn't skip school", he says. "Neither should you." "I'm not.... I'm only running late." He almost winks.

"We should meet again", Sherlock decides as he gets up and is about to leave without any more words.

"I still don't even know your name and where to meet you", John interjects.  
"The name's Sherlock Holmes. And... Just be here tomorrow evening." He smiles and walks off.  
A friendship that already existed for years inside their hearts develops that day.


	2. Chapter 2

"School is horrendously boring", Sherlock complains as they sit together in the grass. "You spend all day doing nothing but getting told about dull stuff you'll never need again and stupid pupils who give idiotic answers to idiotic questions." He was always willing to absorb quite a different kind of knowledge. John sighs. Even though Sherlock doesn't admit it, he knows that's not the only thing that troubles Sherlock. Most kids find him odd for his ability to read other people by just looking at them, some call him names, most avoid him. Being daring John would even say it bothers him to not have his only friend close while in school, but he tries not to be too audacious and shoves those thoughts aside. 

"It's just a lot of wasted time." John almost laughs and feels almost flattered that spending time with him, even without adventures and things to keep the genius' mind busy, doesn't seem to be as much of wasted time as his time at school. 

Still... They've had this particular conversation far more often than John cares to remember and everytime they came to the conclusion that they couldn't do anything about it and had to simply suffer through it, whether they liked it or not. Or at least that was what John told his friend every time but Sherlock seemed to either ignore it or he was trying to get a different answer out of John, one he could acknowledge, one he was satisfied with. Unfortunately John has to crush that hope as he tells the dark haired genius child the same things he always does. 

Sherlock only lets out a small huff and throws himself on his back and stares up at the sky. He's rather obviously displeased but there's nothing his friend could do about that, so John simply lies down next to him, the damp grass tickling his cheek as he turns his head, the air still chilly and humid but neither of them seems to care. 

"That's a beautiful rainbow", John remarks, lifting his hand towards it.  
"That's not very interesting... it's a natural phenomenon, no more. It's only an optical effect of light being broken in raindrops, nothing remarkable." Sherlock explains, he is still sulking, John concludes. 

"I know that myself." John rolls his eyes. "Still, it's beautiful. Can't you just appreciate it for that? It doesn't have to be special or remarkable to be beautiful." John has to admit he's a little snappy himself, but Sherlock's moods are insufferable.  
After that Sherlock is silent for a while. 

John almost lets out a small laugh as he sits up. "In fact, you might get to skip a few days of school if you keep lying on the wet grass", he says, smiling a crooked smile. Sherlock doesn't respond.

John knows Sherlock tends to get lost in his brain, so much that he'd ignore his friend for hours, not even noticing if he's still there until he snaps out of it. He's fine with it. Often he just spends the time sitting next to Sherlock, wondering what is going on in that brilliant mind this time, sometimes he'd stay close to Sherlock and does his homework or just finds other things to do. On these occasions he'd just respond with a smile when Sherlock finally came back to the dull, ordinary world outside his head. And other times, he just leaves Sherlock be and goes home.

He doesn't think Sherlock minds either way. But, although he never says anything, Sherlock decidedly prefers the times when John is still sitting next to him, when he finally finds the way out of his brain again.

"I'll see you tomorrow", John says as he gets up - not even sure if Sherlock is listening or again lost in his busy mind - and leaves.

 

In the end it was John who's gotten the fever.  
Sherlock looks at his mobile phone again. 

'Sick. Can't come today.' It reads. A light shake of his head makes the dark curls bounce and he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before he presses the door bell. 

He is almost glad Harry is the one who answers the door, he doesn't even have to push past her, as she just opens the door and steps aside herself. "He's in his room", she comments.   
"Where else would he be?", Sherlock replies. He doesn't expect an answer to that and he doesn't get one. Obviously John has to be in his room when he's told to stay in bed, he thinks and rushes up the stairs to his friends room. 

He's noticed the shoes and jacket at the front door, but still, the chatter from behind the door lets him pause for a moment before he enters.   
John is in bed, sitting up leaned against the headboard against the wall, looking rather miserable. He's got big bags under his eyes, his hair clings damp and dark from sweat to his skin and his words are disrupted by violent coughs. Still, he smiles as Sherlock enters the room.   
The other boy sitting across John on the bed looks almost startled at the sudden intruder, runs his fingers through is short dark hair. He tilts his head for a moment and stares at Sherlock until he almost jumps to his feet. 

"Oh, so you must be Sherlock Holmes", he says. "John's told me all about you."   
Sherlock throws a questioning glance in John's direction but the other boy gives him no chance to get an answer and thrusts his hand towards Sherlock.   
"Jim Moriarty, hi", he announces gleeful.

Sherlock frowns. He doesn't take the offered hand and simply looks at the boy in what almost resembles a glare. 

With a shrug Jim lets his hand fall to his side and offers a weak smile. "I was about to go anyway." He turns to John again. "Bye. And get better soon, will you?" Nodding at Sherlock he leaves.

Neither of them says anything until they hear the front door. Sherlock moves a little closer. He's quite uncomfortable, caring for others wasn't really a thing he had ever been very good at, so he just hovers near the bed, trying not to look too awkward shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
"I'm glad you came", John says. "Now sit down already."  
Sherlock smiles uncertain but does as he's told. His gaze flickers towards the door.   
"I don't like him", he announces. It is obvious who he's talking about. "You barely like anyone", John retorts. This silences Sherlock for a short moment only. "This is different", he insists. "He's trouble." 

John laughs until a cough interferes. "I've never met anyone who is more trouble than you are", he finally states and Sherlock can't really say that it's not true. Both start to giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really short chapter but I couldn't just fit it together with another snapshot-moment of their lives...  
> next chapter will be the last one... (probably)

The phone rings. Sherlock ignores it. He's busy experimenting on a dead mouse he's found earlier.  
The phone rings again, and is again ignored.

Few minutes later his mobile beeps, indicating he's got a text. Sighing Sherlock looks around, finding his phone underneath an open book on his desk. The message is from John. 

'Call me. Please.' 

'I prefer to text! SH' - He replies.

'Please. Just this one time.'

A few seconds later the phone rings. John picks up.  
"What's so important?", Sherlock enquires, not quite annoyed but obviously not all too pleased about the distraction. John doesn't care. He notices the clatter of glass in the background. "What are you doing?" he asks.  
"Experimenting." 

A small smile pulls at John's lips, knowing Sherlock often didn't even respond to texts when he was engrossed in his experiments. He better didn't ask what these experiments entailed. "Thanks for calling anyway", he mutters. 

The noises from Sherlock's side of the line suddenly stopps. "What's wrong?", Sherlock queries sounding almost alert. "Your voice is all wrong."  
John sighs. Of course Sherlock would notice right away. They've known each other long enough. "Can we meet?"

Fifteen minutes later they meet in the park. John seems unusually erratic. His eyes are red and he works his jaw everytime he bites his tears back or tries to say something. Sherlock just stares at him, concerned.

John suddenly lurches forward, throws his arms around his friend and burries his face in Sherlock's shirt. Alarmed he freezes. Only when he feels the wetness through the fabric, Sherlock realizes his friend is quietly sobbing. He feels helpless, standing stiff and awkward, not knowing what to do until he remembers that he's probably supposed to hug and console his friend somehow. He almost feels a bit proud that John came to him, although he knows Sherlock's abilities concerning interpersonal courtesy and a bit sad for John if Sherlock was his first choice. He puts his arms around John's shoulders, gathering him in a closer hug, gently stroking his back in an attempt to sooth his crying friend.

"My father was in an accident", he explains weakly and still sniffling when there are no more tears. "He's dead." He almost doesn't choke on the last word, manages barely more than a whisper, it's so much harder, so much more real when said out loud and almost starts to sob again. He bites his lip as he leans his head agains Sherlock's shoulder again. After a while he pulls back, gently pulls at Sherlock's sleeve. "Let's go somewhere else."

This night John stays at Sherlock's. Sitting awake for most of the night. John staring down at his hands fumbling around with a tissue, every attempt at talking ending in tears or a stutter as he doesn't really know himself what he wants to say. After a while he gives up and tries to avoid thinking all together.  
Sherlock is a calming, warm and constant presence next to him, playing a soothing melody on his violin.

John is exhausted and finally falls asleep. His head rolls from one side to the other and finally with a soft thud comes to a rest agains Sherlock's shoulder. He's putting his arm around his friend and rests his cheek against the top of John's head. "You feel like home", John mutters in his sleep and a sad smile spreads over his lips.

Sherlock doesn't sleep this night and only leaves John's side for a short moment to get a blanket for his sleeping friend.


	4. Chapter 4

John had forced him, had handed him a knife and ordered him to chop the onion he placed in front of Sherlock. He considers accidentally cutting his hand, so he has an excuse not to do it after complaining only earns him a glare. He isn't hungry anyway, but in the end he decides, if sullenly so, to comply. John surely must be hungry, he thinks and misses John's true intention completely. And it would be a bloody mess as well, quite literally so. 

The real purpose however completely passes him by. John knows well enough how Sherlock treated his body and neglected its needs. He had thought, that maybe, if he could bring Sherlock to cook something himself, he would be more willing to eat it as well. If just to let the wasted time be of some use, maybe even to do John a favour. John doesn't even care which one it is if it helps his friend to take better care of himself.  
Still, he isn't sure how much success that plan could possibly have. 

As it turns out, Sherlock is rather good at cooking. Well not the cooking itself, maybe, but he apparently has had quite some practice in cutting things up, working very precise with a knife, and quick as well. John is more astonished than he probably should be, given Sherlock's extend and substance of experiments he should have expected it, really. Still he raises a surprised eyebrow when Sherlock hands him the bowl with tiny cubed onions and quickly gives him another task.  
"That really is just a waste of time", the dark haired complains once again. Sighing John stops what he is doing. "Nutrition is essential for viability, Sherlock", he explains, getting only a dismissive flick of his wrist as answer from his friend.

"I get that." He huffs. "But that's its only purpose. There's no reason to make such a big deal out of it. It doesn't even have to be tasty. It's just a means to an end. It's boring. Not just the eating, the cooking isn't much better, and digesting slows down."

"Just pretend it's some sort of experiment", John suggests. Sherlock stares at him for a whole minute before he states how stupid that idea is.   
Even so, from then on he keeps fulfilling every task John sets him with precision and even concentration and doesn't complain again.  
While the food is cooking, Sherlock keeps pacing up and down the kitchen, impatient for the dull activity to find its end until John throws him out under the accusation of driving him mad with his constant complaining and restlessness after he didn't comply to Johns request for silence. 

"What do you think?", John queries after he's put down the plate in front of his friend. Scornfully and still a bit sulky he gives the food a go. "It's not that bad", he admits. "Not especially good either", he hurries to add. "But it's edible."

With a heavy sigh John sits down next to his friend and starts to eat. He shouldn't have expected anything different yet he did. Still, Sherlock eats. It's a start. John smiles.

 

It was the time when John got his first girlfriend that he realised he didn't like that one bit. So, obviously he is quite pleased when their relationship meets its end, trying not to be too obvious about it for John's sake. Now he finds himself more and more often just staring at his friend. All he can hope for is that John either doesn't notice or takes it for one of his eccentricities, might regard it as a newly developed quirk or even some sort of experiment. 

Sherlock doesn't want to change anything in their relationship. They're comfortable as friends. To say they know each other their whole lives doesn't even feel like a lie. John is one of the few people it's easy to be around and probably the only one he never gets bored off. It would be foolish to change anything, yet he craves something he can't quite grasp, fails to describe, wants something different. It drives him crazy and sometimes he gets cranky and snappy and John gets angry with him and leaves, when all he wants is for John to stay close.

 

They'd taken the tube to school. It was crowded and elbows kept poking and hitting at his ribs, shoulders kept pushing him and someone even stamped on his foot. Sherlock seemed to be cross with the whole world after that. Even John earns himself an angry glare, as they get off.   
"Well that was tedious", Sherlock grumbles. "Next time let's just take a cab." 

John only shakes his head at this, whilst Sherlock rushes ahead. He doesn't even seem to care about his classes and just aims straight for the school lab, empty that early in the morning. 

Apparently it's easier for him to calm down in here. John wordlessly follows him. He's noticed his friend being overly restless all morning, even by his standards. Not knowing what Sherlock had made his mind up about, what he was nervous about and what could change their whole friendship.

"I really don't know how people do things like", Sherlock states after a while, turning towards his friend. Enquiring John raises an eyebrow. "I never meant to get so close", Sherlock murmurs, lowering his gaze, and John understands that he doesn't mean their physical proximity at all. The genius is obviously nervous and tries to find the right words to say. "You are important to me. You might not be the most intelligent..." No, that's obviously you, muses John, "or the most handsome... but... "

"Oh, just shut up." John smiles as he grabs Sherlock's collar to pull him into a kiss. "You don't always have to ruin everything, you know?", he mutters - still smiling - against the taller boy's lips.


End file.
